


The word I use to describe

by nanasekei



Series: Happy Steve Bingo Fills [5]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gift Giving, Knowledge of source material not needed, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 02:00:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16150172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/pseuds/nanasekei
Summary: “Here,” Steve says, in guise of explanation. Tony’s expression is puzzled. He takes his head off Steve’s shoulder, straightening his posture.“Is that for me?”“Yeah,” Steve breathes. His stomach is clenching in anxiety, which is ridiculous – it’s just a fucking ugly scarf, Tony knows so many people, he’s got to have gotten worse gifts before. “It’s, uh. A bit late.”





	The word I use to describe

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: this is a Ults fic written by someone who's never read Ults. So, apologies in advance if characterizations seem incredibly off. Just think of it as a fic for soft, fanon!Ults that I've come to love so much lately, even not knowing the source material.
> 
> As always, thanks for Sheron for the beta and suggestions! And also to people in the Stony discord for answering my question :D This is for the square "Knitting" on my Happy Steve Bingo card.

As soon as the door opens, Steve is already regretting it.

“Hello, darling,” Tony says, walking inside in slow, relaxed steps. He takes off his coat in a smooth movement, hand reaching to loosen his tie. It’s hard not to watch, not to feel enthralled by his casual elegance. It’s different from his usual performative flippantness. There’s nothing rehearsed about it – it’s softer and warmer, though still graceful, made even more mesmerizing by the thought so few people get to see it.

On Steve’s lap, the package feels clumsy and heavy, poorly made with its boring, plain paper.

“Hi,” he mumbles, hands tightening around it. It had been so hard, to think of something Tony could want. He had spent days uselessly looking at outrageously priced watches and social shoes that all looked the same to him. He wanted something that Tony could actually use, something he didn’t have yet.

A wool scarf, then, seemed like a good choice. Steve learned knitting at school, for the troops; then, at war, he mostly used it for code messages. In both instances, it had been a simple, functional thing. Though the process was delicate, the soldiers didn’t care about how their socks or tactical orders looked like: they cared about the practicality, about whether it would keep them warm or fool the enemy side.

Steve has always been good with practical things. He had thought he could make something actually comfortable for Tony to wear, something warmer than his usual flashy clothes.

(He wants Tony to be warm more often. At night, in bed, he can sometimes feel him shaking, and he can pull him closer, hold him. During daytime, it’s harder to muster the courage, and he doesn’t like the thought of Tony shivering. He just doesn’t.)

Now, though, the logic seems silly, falling to pieces little by little. If Tony wanted a wool scarf, he’d already have one – Tony could have any scarf money could ever buy. Besides, nothing Steve could make would ever come close to the elegance and opulence of something Tony would actually wear.

Tony kicks his shoes off, and Steve briefly considers giving up the idea entirely.

It’s not even the right day anymore – he completely missed the actual date, too focused on work to even remember. To be fair, Tony didn’t seem to care, just wrapping his arms around him and whispering _my valentine_ on his ear when he got home. There had been no gifts or celebrations, which Steve appreciated, but the syrupy, warm tone of Tony’s voice on his ear travelled through his body like it did every night, and he had felt so warm and comfortable, in Tony’s arms when falling asleep, that it made sense to think of something, anything to give him in return.

It had taken him weeks, because he kept undoing it and starting it over, frustrated with his clumsy stiches and unable to pick a color. He had finally settled on a blue, because it reminded him of Tony’s eyes, but now, even that feels like a bad decision – he can’t remember the last time he ever saw Tony actually _wearing_ blue, and, damn, Tony would want his clothes to match, wouldn’t he?

“So glad to see you’re home,” Tony says, turning and walking towards him. _Home_ sends a rush in Steve’s chest, an impossible word that seems to only take shape and feel real when out of Tony’s lips. “I could’ve sworn that meeting was never going to end.” He sits by Steve’s side, hand cupping his face, pressing a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth. Steve swallows. “How was at Shield?”

“Fine,” Steve grunts, still a little dizzy from all the sudden contact. He’s supposed to be getting used to it by now, after almost a year, but it’s still overwhelming sometimes, that affection that Tony gives so casually, so easily, although he’s done nothing to earn it. It’s so simple, and it feels so _good_ , to have Tony by his side, all light touches and kisses. He’s warmer than he’s been all day, and it wasn’t a cold day.

He tries to think of something to say – something to explain the package, or to bring up the topic, or even to excuse himself and throw the damn thing out the window before Tony notices it – but it’s hard, with Tony right next to him, curling up by his side. His blue eyes stare at Steve with nothing but peace, body utterly relaxed, as if he’s been waiting to do this all day, and he looks so unbelievably beautiful every single one of Steve’s words die on his throat, too weak and simple for everything he’d like to say.

He ends up grabbing the package and practically throwing it at Tony’s lap.

“Here,” Steve says, in guise of explanation. Tony’s expression is puzzled. He takes his head off Steve’s shoulder, straightening his posture.

“Is that for me?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. His stomach is clenching in anxiety, which is ridiculous – it’s just a fucking ugly scarf, Tony knows so many people, he’s got to have gotten worse gifts before. “It’s, uh. A bit late.”

Tony’s eyes widen as he looks at him. “Late?” Then it seems to dawn on him, slowly. “Is that… Is that for Valentine’s Day?”

Steve nods sharply, crossing his arms in front of his chest and staring forward.

There’s a moment of silence.

“Steve,” Tony’s voice sounds softer, almost like a whisper. “You didn’t have to…”

“Yeah, well,” Steve interrupts, unnecessarily harsh to his own ears. “’s nothing fancy, so don’t expect much.”

Tony doesn’t say anything, and the anxiety in his stomach is too much for Steve, so he finally turns to look.

The package is on Tony’s lap, and he runs his fingers over it, unwrapping it without ripping off the packaging. Tony’s hands are always precise, but now they seem slightly shaken, and he carefully folds the wrapping paper. He places it next to him on the couch as if it doesn’t belong in the garbage bin. Then he looks at the pile of blue fabric and Steve’s stomach clenches more.

It’s not even the right shade of blue, he thinks, bitterly. It’s too light. He couldn’t even get this right.

Tony holds the scarf on his hands. He unfolds it slowly, running his fingers over the fabric with an unreadable expression. When he gets to both ends, he flips them carefully, as if searching for something.

 “You made this,” He says, finally, and Steve’s heart sinks when he realizes he must’ve been looking for the brand label. Tony spends so much money on him, so freely - how cheap it must look, that Steve couldn’t even actually buy him something.

“You,” Steve stutters. “You don’t have to wear it.” He manages, feeling defeated. Tony’s eyes are still focused on the scarf. In his hands, the stiches that previously seemed fine now look rougher than ever, and Steve can’t look at him, turning his gaze downwards, face burning. “It’s… Like I said, it’s nothing fancy.”

For a moment, Tony doesn’t answer. Steve feels a knot on his throat. He knew it wasn’t the best gift, but he’d thought Tony would at least _pretend_ , give him one of his characteristic smiles that didn’t reach his eyes, maybe joke about his knitting abilities before forgetting the scarf on the bottom of a drawer.

Maybe it’s for the best, Steve thinks, as the silence lingers. It’s not right, for Tony to keep… humoring him, out of some sense of obligation, or – the thought sends a sharping pain through his chest – pity.

Tony is still in silence. Steve clenches his fists. Maybe Tony finds it amusing, to keep him waiting, like a cat playing with his food. Steve buries his fingers deeply onto his palms, fighting the impulse to just snatch the damn thing off Tony’s hands and leave.

He thought it’d match his eyes, he thinks, pathetically.  He thought…

“Steve,” Tony calls.

Steve swallows – _get a grip, soldier –_ before raising his head to look at him.

Tony’s holding the scarf with both hands, fingers tightly clutching it against his chest. His eyes are impossibly bright, almost as if – as if they’re _wet_ , and he looks at Steve with something so strong and so wonderful Steve forgets how to breathe.

“Darling,” Tony says, and his voice is fragile and choked up, but there’s a smile on his lips, small and light and full of wonder. One of his hands let's go of the scarf and grabs Steve’s wrist, raising his knuckles to his mouth, pressing a light – so soft, so gentle – kiss on Steve’s skin. “It’s beautiful.” He raises Steve’s hand and ducks his head a little, nuzzling onto Steve’s palm, the smile stretching over his lips, brighter than the sun. “Thank you so much.”

Steve’s head is spinning, lost on the joy and fondness all over Tony’s face. “Really?” he asks, a bit embarrassed of how insecure it sounds, but it’s impossible to think enough to control it, with Tony looking at him like that. “You like it?”

Tony’s smile shouldn’t be able to get bigger, but it’s what it does, so wonderful and happy in a way Steve had never seen him. “I love it.”

The weight of the words seem to make something explode inside Steve’s chest, and he knows his hand must shake against Tony’s cheek. Tony blinks at him for a few moments, eyes teary and beautiful, before he turns his face again to press another kiss on the inside of Steve’s wrist. His expression grows a little more serious, and Steve wonders if he’s not the only one, if Tony is also hearing _love_ on his head in an endless echo.

“Well,” Tony says, taking a sharp breath, composing himself. “I should try it on.”

He wraps the scarf around his neck with slow, reverent movements. Steve watches the way his fingers touch the wool, so delicately. Long, clever fingers he knows so well.

“What do you think, gorgeous?” Tony bats his eyelashes at him playfully, grinning when Steve flushes. It’s been a year, and those eyelashes still get to him. He forces himself to shrug.

“Looks good,” he says, because he can’t quite put it into words, how it makes him feel, to see Tony wearing something he made. Even in the fancy knot, it’s undeniably homemade, the wool a sharp contrast to the expensive fabrics Tony usually wears. But Tony’s grin is so bright, and he keeps running his hands over the scarf’s ends, as if he can’t bring himself to stop touching it, and Steve’s heart rushes at the sight. “At least it’s gonna warm you up a little. All that flimsy stuff you wear, it’s a miracle you don’t catch a cold.”

“Such a mother hen,” Tony says, but his voice is warm and delighted, and he slides onto Steve’s lap, arms around his shoulders. He presses a kiss on Steve’s cheek, cupping his face. Steve lets his hands go to his waist, pulling him closer.

Tony sighs, melting into the touch, resting his head on the curve of Steve’s neck. He’s so warm, and Steve wants to say it feels so good, to hold him like this, to have him, but the words get caught up on his throat.

“So _sneaky_ , too, Captain,” Tony’s voice is lighter, hands running over Steve’s back in delicious, relaxing circles. “Making me think we weren’t doing Valentine’s Day just so I wouldn’t shower you with presents. Although I suppose nothing is stopping me now.”

“You don’t have to give me anything,” Steve whispers, because Tony gives him so much, all the time. Even now, he’s already giving him more than he ever allowed himself to dream with.

“Oh, but I want to.” Tony raises his head, blue eyes staring deeply into Steve’s as he smiles lasciviously. “I want to give you so, so many things.” Steve flushes, and Tony presses a peck on his mouth – then another, and another, kisses growing deeper between whispers.

“So sweet, darling,” Tony mutters. The praise makes Steve’s heart flutter, Tony’s voice going through his body like a sip of hot chocolate. “So beautiful.” He pulls away from a deeper kiss, leaning his forehead against Steve’s temple, breath uneven against Steve’s skin. “Can’t get enough of you.”

The words echo between them, meaning too much in so little, and Steve tightens his grip on Tony’s waist, because he just can’t, can’t be like him, can’t make the words come out that easily. Tony leans into the hug, body relaxed over his.

They stay like this for a while. Steve focuses on Tony’s breath, on the way his chest moves up and down, on the smell of his cologne. It still feels unbelievable, that he can have this. That this is his.

“I had no idea you knit,” Tony says, after a while.

“We all learned in the war,” Steve replies. He feels Tony’s hands on his hair and can’t help but close his eyes. “Don’t do it much nowadays, though. ‘s why the stitches are a bit rough.”

To his surprise, Tony pulls back, raising his head to stare at him. “They’re not rough,” He says, face surprisingly serious before breaking into another slow, fond smile. “They’re perfect.”

Steve huffs out a chuckle. “They’re not _perfect._ ”

“They are,” Tony leans over, pressing another kiss onto Steve’s mouth. “Absolutely,” Another. “Perfect.” Another. “Don’t you dare badmouth my present. _My fella_ made it,” He says, drawling _my fella_ out in a delighted voice, and Steve is giggling a little into the kiss now, feeling warm all over. “And therefore it’s perfect.”

Steve’s smiling ridiculously, now, but Tony’s lazy grin against his mouth is worth it. He leans back on the couch, feeling his soft kisses all over his face, closing his eyes. He feels relaxed like he hasn’t been in weeks, like he didn’t even know it was possible to feel.

“Do you want to go to bed, darling?” Tony asks into his ear, and Steve shakes his head slowly. On his lap, he feels Tony shifting a little, maneuvering their bodies so they lay down on the couch. “Okay. Be right back, sweetheart,” He whispers, kissing Steve’s forehead and lifting himself up.

After what feels like too much time, Steve feels Tony’s body cuddling against his again, a blanket covering both of them. He feels the silky fabric of Tony’s pajamas and smiles. Tony curls up on top of him, resting his head on his chest. Steve caresses his hair, feeling the short dark locks between his fingers, running his hand lower, to Tony’s neck.

Tony’s still wearing the scarf. Steve feels like floating.

“Did you, uh,” he starts, a bit hesitant. He’s half-asleep, now, and he feels like he’s dreaming, but it’s still incredibly hard, to muster the courage to ask. “Do you really… Love it?”

It’s a cowardly question, loaded with so much more meaning than it lets on at first, but he knows Tony gets it, and he – he wants to know, wants to hope, wants to…

Tony shifts a little over him. “So, so much, darling,” he whispers, voice warm and wonderful against Steve’s ear, and Steve’s heart turns elastic, bounces, swells and hammers against his chest all at the same time. “You have no idea.”

 _Me too,_ Steve wants to say, but the words won’t come out, even now. It’s ok, though, because Tony’s voice is so honest, so sincere and loaded with feeling that it feels like he knows, how much it means.

Steve wraps his arms around Tony’s waist and presses a kiss on top of his forehead.

He’s gonna make him a pair of socks next.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts about it. Here is the [tumblr post](http://elcorhamletlive.tumblr.com/post/178623462485/the-word-i-use-to-describe-nanasekei-marvel) if you'd like to reblog it!


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